Not with footsteps, at least.

But Kael’s presence stayed with her like the echo of a song she’d once heard in a dream. She told herself it didn’t matter. She told herself his words didn’t mean anything.

They did.

That night, Liana sat alone in the attic room above the cliff house—her home, if she could still call it that. The windows rattled with wind. The sea below was a black, restless thing.

She picked up the photo she always ignored.

A younger version of herself stared back—eyes softer, smile reckless. And next to her… him.

Not Kael. Someone else.

The first boy who tried to stay.

The one who taught her why names were dangerous.

She shoved the photo back into the drawer, slammed it shut. She didn’t cry. She didn’t do that anymore.

---

Meanwhile, across the town, Kael stood by the sea.

He hadn’t meant to speak to her. Not yet. But the look in her eyes—it reminded him of himself.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a worn notebook. A name was scribbled on the first page.

Not hers. Not his.

Someone else's.

He closed it slowly, looking out into the waves.

But she was changing that.

And he hated it.